


Good Cop

by belmanoir



Series: Cops [1]
Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-07
Updated: 2012-04-07
Packaged: 2017-11-03 05:09:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/377639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belmanoir/pseuds/belmanoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vecchio is posing as a mafioso for a high-profile chocolate smuggling case. Kowalski tries to help him relax after work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Cop

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pir8fancier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pir8fancier/gifts).



> Written during [dSSS 2007](http://crocolanthus.com/dsss/archive/2/goodcop.html). Beta'd by inseriatim. [Albino squirrel towns are real!](http://www.roadsideamerica.com/set/squirrels.html)  
> 

"Nice work, guys," Stella said. "I really appreciate you coming all the way from Chicago for this." She gave Ray a small smile, and Kowalski shifted restlessly at his elbow. "You were great. We've been trying to get the location of that cacao plantation out of these people for months." Stella looked happy.

Ray got that. The successful prosecution of Agata "Special Dark" Valdes y Ortega would be a big step forward in her campaign to crack down on Cuban smugglers. Even so, he found himself annoyed by her praise. They had given him a job to do, and he'd done it, and now he wanted to do his damn paperwork and go to sleep. He nodded at Stella, then couldn't think of anything polite to follow it up with.

"You think we got enough to put her away?" Kowalski asked, filling the awkward silence just like he filled every silence.

"Definitely," Stella told him, then turned back to Ray. "Questioning her ability to get the quantity of contraband you needed was brilliant, Ray. She laid out the whole operation for you."

"Yeah, you know Vecchio, he's good with people." Kowalski smirked. 

Ray bit back a dozen comebacks, each of which would have had Kowalski starting a drag-down knock-out fight right there in the parking lot of the Orlando Value Motor Inn. He hated these cases, where he'd pose as a high-up wiseguy for an undercover meeting---in this case buying Cuban chocolate for sale in Mafia-owned vending machines. It made sense to use him, he knew that. Even if his cover as Langoustini was blown, he could still pass as a goombah easy. He could still talk the talk and walk the walk and exude casual menace like a champion. 

But it took him hours, sometimes days, to come back from being the Bookman. Another reason he always took the Riv instead of flying---driving back home gave him time alone to get his head on straight. 

He was just glad it was Kowalski there and not Fraser---which was not something he'd ever thought he'd say. But he didn't want Benny to see him like this. He didn't want Benny to see him swaggering and cursing and bullying. He didn't want Benny to hear him lying to a woman without a flicker of remorse.

"And her kids?" Kowalski asked.

Stella sighed. "We've got officers on the way to their hotel right now. Their vacation will have to be cut short, but they should be fine. They'll be sent home to their father in Havana."

"Not exactly the trip to Disney World a kid dreams about," Kowalski remarked.

"Special Dark Valdes isn't the mother a kid dreams about either, Kowalski," Ray snapped. "She was using them as cover."

"I know that," Kowalski said. "Look, is that all, Stella? 'Cause Vecchio and I got a lot of paperwork to do."

Stella looked hurt, but she nodded. "Are you sure the two of you will be all right here? I can send backup if you'd like."

"I don't think the chocolate is gonna try and fight its way out," Kowalski said.

She smiled reluctantly. "I don't suppose it will. Just remember, Ray, we have a number of photographs of the contraband. It has to be in the same condition in the morning when the truck comes for it. No putting it in your coffee."

"Scout's honor," Kowalski told her, and made an obscene gesture instead of the scout salute.

Stella actually laughed. "Good night, Ray," she said.

"G'night, Stella," Kowalski said.

She turned to Ray. "Good night, Ray."

He made an effort to smile at her. "It was good seeing you. And congrats on making U.S. Attorney. I know you'll give 'em hell."

"Thanks, Ray." She threw one last furtive glance at Kowalski and sighed, her smile slipping. "I'll see you two tomorrow morning when you bring in your statements." Her heels clacked on the uneven pavement as she walked away.

"I need a fucking drink," Kowalski muttered, and headed for their room. 

By the time Ray had navigated his way around the several hundred pounds of Cuban chocolate stacked near the room's entrance, Kowalski was already turning off the various cameras and bugs with a great show of concentration. Ray had the feeling he was glad for an excuse not to talk to Ray, so he left Kowalski to it, pulling off his suit jacket and tie and hanging them carefully in the closet. 

The room didn't have a desk, so Ray took a hard vinyl chair and started writing his report at the wobbly table. When he was done, he sat and stared at his feet in their nice Italian leather. He wasn't sure how much time passed, but eventually he looked up and there was Kowalski in the other chair, tapping his fingers on the table's crummy veneer and kinda watching him through his glasses.

He didn't like Kowalski looking at him with his glasses on. Even though Kowalski's shitty vision didn't kick in until farther away anyway, it made him feel exposed. But Kowalski wore them almost all the time now when they were working, ever since Ray had taken his third bullet while Kowalski was locked in deadly combat with his jacket pocket. He was in shirtsleeves and suit pants too, the shirt crinkled where his holster had been and his discarded jacket and tie in a crumpled pile on the floor. 

Kowalski hated the suits they made him wear for these jobs. Maybe that was why he looked even more pissed off and fidgety than he usually did, and why he was already mostly done with his second beer. Ray didn't think so.

Ray struggled for something to say, something nice, something human. "Hard to see her again, huh?" he said finally.

Kowalski blinked. "Stella? No, s'kind of nice, actually. She looks good." His eyes narrowed. "Why? Was it hard for you?"

Ray thought about it. Kowalski was right, Stella did look good. Florida casual suited her. And yeah, he'd ogled her legs in her new orange pumps. But other than that, nada. Was that okay? He'd been married to her for six months. Shouldn't he feel _something_? But she didn't feel anything either, he was pretty sure. Not like she did for Kowalski. Every time she looked at him---a poker face like that wouldn't have lasted her five minutes undercover. "Nah," he said finally. "I guess I had other things on my mind."

"Doesn't it piss you off?" Kowalski burst out.

"What, Stella?" Ray asked, really not wanting to deal with another one of Kowalski's meltdowns at one in the fucking morning and not sure he'd be able to, either. He rubbed at his neck, feeling a major headache coming on.

"No, how they treat you," Kowalski said, and Ray's head snapped up. That was _not_ what he'd been expecting to hear. "First they make you do Vegas---make you do God knows what, because Fraser might be fooling himself but you and me, we both know that wasn't an ordinary assignment, there's no _way_ you didn't have to get your hands dirty out there. And then when you think you're done, they keep making you do dumb-ass gigs like this. Like you're a fucking dog they trained to do a really good trick, and you---"

Ray rolled his shoulders, trying to get out the tension. "It's not so bad," he said, not wanting to talk about it. "It'd be nice if they'd put us up at a better fucking motel, but someone's gotta do it. The Vegas job, too. The mob doesn't run Vegas anymore, you think that doesn't make me happy?"

"No, I don't," Kowalski said bluntly. 

Ray didn't have anything to say to that. Because yeah, okay, he wasn't happy.

"You---uh, you want a backrub?"

Ray stared. "You give backrubs?"

"Sure. I took a class with Stella once," Kowalski said defensively. "It's great for undercover 'cause you get so tense. One of the teams I used to work with in Chicago, we'd get together a few hours after a meet and do circle backrubs."

Ray just stared some more. He'd known Kowalski was weird, but this was on a whole other level. This was Fraser-esque.

"What?" Kowalski demanded. "It was great! Built the team like nothing else."

"And they did it?" Ray asked incredulously. "I mean, you had _cops_ doing circle backrubs. I can just imagine suggesting that to the feebs."

Kowalski shrugged. "Yeah, they were cool. My supervisor knew better than to put homophobic assholes on my team. Not a good way to keep me alive. Course, there was this one guy who gave the _worst_ massages, and he always ended up sitting behind me, I think maybe he had a crush on me or something. And the next day my back would hurt in weird places. It was _not_ buddies."

Ray just blinked at him.

Kowalski looked back, and then he got this awful angry look on his face. "Never mind." He finished off his beer and set the bottle down so hard the table nearly tipped over.

It took Ray a second to figure it out, but then he realized that Kowalski had just kind of come out to him---which was no big shock, not to Ray, anyway, but maybe Kowalski didn't know that---and Ray hadn't said anything. In fact, he was staring at Kowalski like Kowalski was a freak. Which, you know, he was. But not because of that. "No, I mean---" _Fuck._ "A backrub would be great."

Kowalski narrowed his eyes. "Hey, don't do me any favors, Vecchio," he said, but it was his all-bark-and-no-bite voice. He just wanted to be convinced. Kowalski was so high-maintenance sometimes. 

"I'm not," Ray said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "My neck really fucking hurts."

Kowalski ducked his head and smiled. "'Kay." 

Christ, when Kowalski took his game face off, he took it _off_. Ray wished he could do it so easy, but at the same time there was something embarrassing about it, like Kowalski's fly was open and he didn't know.

The backrub _was_ great, though. A little weird, but great. Kowalski did massage like he did everything else, with his whole body. There was no couch, so they were sitting on one of the double beds, Ray cross-legged and Kowalski kneeling behind him. The lumpy mattress kept up a constant squeaking protest as Kowalski shifted, putting his shoulders into it, and Ray's tired muscles just gave up under his onslaught, one by one. 

"You ever been to Disney World?" Kowalski asked. His voice was low, and slower than usual, like he was only half thinking about what he was saying.

"Nah," Ray said. "One time we were gonna drive down. I musta been eight or nine. We got about an hour out of Chicago and my dad remembered there was a Bears game on, so we went back."

"Your dad was a grade-A asshole, Vecchio," Kowalski said.

It was kind of nice to have someone say it. Fraser had always just sat there and looked at him. Ray knew that was Fraser's way of showing sympathy, and most of the time he even liked it, it was soothing. But sometimes you just wanted a little cussing on your side. "Yeah, tell me about it," he said. "How 'bout you? You ever been?"

"Oh, sure," Kowalski said. "A bunch of times. My parents used to take me every few years when I was a kid. We always stopped at the albino squirrels."

"The what?"

"There are these four towns between Chicago and Orlando that all claim to be the white squirrel capital of the world," Kowalski explained. "They have this vendetta over whose squirrels are the most albino, see? The people at the one in Illinois always pull you aside and tell you that it's the eyes, all the other towns' squirrels have dark eyes. They've got highway signs and everything. You never noticed?"

"I guess not," Ray said. Kowalski was so fucking weird.

"Well, I liked to feed the albino squirrels peanuts," Kowalski said. "Plus I had this thing about Donald Duck."

"Donald Duck? Really?"

"Yeah." Kowalski's thumbs dug into Ray's lower back, and Ray almost moaned. "'Cause he's got a temper. You know, he turns all red and can't talk and tries to smash things. I loved it." He chuckled. "Hard to see why, huh?"

"A mystery," Ray said. But he couldn't help thinking it was kind of cute, and then Kowalski's thumb brushed his belt. It was only for a second, before Kowalski went back to his shoulders, but it made Ray think about things, like that Kowalski's _hands_ were on him. Suddenly the relaxing backrub had turned into a nightmare, because Ray was turned on. Really, really turned on.

Unfortunately his dick wasn't the only part of him that went stiff when he realized that, so Kowalski was tipped off that something was up. "What now, Vecchio?" he demanded, putting an elbow on the bed and leaning around so he could see Ray's face. 

One of the first things Ray had learned undercover was that sometimes eye contact could distract someone from even the most blatant things happening elsewhere. He turned his head to look at Kowalski, tried to brazen it out. It didn't work. Kowalski's eyes flickered right to where Ray didn't want them and stayed there, getting wider and wider. 

"Oh," Kowalski said, swallowing hard and pushing himself back up.

Jesus. This was the absolute worst thing that had ever happened to Ray, since junior high gym class anyway. He tried to think of something to say, a bluff, _anything_ , but instead the moment dragged on and on and then Kowalski said in a low voice, "I could---uh, I could do something about that if you wanted," and ran a finger down Ray's spine, bump, bump, bump. And with every bump Ray got harder. 

Ray jerked away. "What the _hell_ is wrong with you, Kowalski?" he demanded. 

Kowalski's hand was gone, and Ray wanted it back. "Sorry," Kowalski said, sounding horrified. "Sorry, that was not cool, I must be drunker than I thought, which I guess is a good thing 'cause it's gonna make it hurt less when you kick my ass."

Ray had already kicked too many asses in his life. Kicking was not what he wanted to do to Kowalski's ass. But why the hell would Kowalski want to let him? "What, did you do _that_ with your team too?" he demanded, turning around---because even though that gave Kowalski an unimpeded view of his crotch, having his back to Kowalski felt a little too vulnerable right now. "Is it all part of the undercover relaxation package?"

"Fuck you, Vecchio," Kowalski said furiously. "It was circle backrubs, not circle-jerks." 

Suddenly Ray wanted to know who Kowalski _had_ done this with. Had he and Fraser---? The horror of the thought made his voice bitter. "Thanks for the offer, but I'm not so hard up I gotta be anybody's pity fuck, Kowalski."

There was silence for a moment, and then the tension went out of Kowalski. He slumped back on the bed and laughed, his eyes lighting up. "What are you, a girl, Vecchio? A free blowjob isn't good enough for you, you gotta feel pretty too?"

Ray could feel his face getting hot. "Shove it up your ass, Kowalski."

Kowalski actually winked at him. "I'd rather shove it up yours."

"Can't we just forget this ever happened?" Ray asked, defeated.

Kowalski grinned. "No way in hell, Vecchio. It's cool, I can do this." He stood up. Ray started to get up too, but Kowalski put a hand on his shoulder. 

"Hey, no, you just stay right where you are," he said, still grinning in a way that made Ray very nervous. "I got it under control."

He went over the phone and punched in a couple of numbers. "Hi, is this room service?...Yeah, I need dinner for two in room 128...What have you got?...Yeah, spaghetti sounds great...What kind of wine?...Oh. Well. Uh. Say the names again?...Which is the most expensive?...Yeah, okay, I guess I'll take that one. And dessert...Just make sure there's chocolate in it." Kowalski ran his eyes over Ray, and then said in the most suggestive tone of voice Ray had possibly ever heard, "Oh, and whipped cream. Definitely whipped cream."

Ray's jaw dropped. Had he fallen asleep without noticing? Was this some bizarre dream? In which case, he and his subconscious were going to have _words_.

Kowalski hung up the phone and said smugly, "Well, Vecchio, while we're waiting for our dinner to arrive, I'm going to go freshen up. Because I wouldn't want you to think I'm not making an effort. I don't just care about your body. I'm interested in your mind, too."

Ray was still trying to think of a comeback---something, anything to say that would make Kowalski just fucking _stop_ \---when Kowalski shut the bathroom door. He was still trying when the shower started, and when it stopped. He was still trying when room service knocked on the door, and while he set out the food on the wobbly table (carefully not looking at the slices of chocolate cream pie covered in whipped cream) and opened the wine, and he was still trying while he put on more deodorant and changed into a clean shirt, and he was still trying when Kowalski came out of the bathroom. 

Then he gave up, because Kowalski looked _good_. Sure, he hadn't done much---just showered, taken off his glasses, and changed his suit for worn jeans and one of his stupidly tight t-shirts. He'd done that thing, too, where he rolled up the sleeves just a little so they clung to his biceps. Fucking show-off. What was he, sixteen?

But it didn't matter that it was stupid. Kowalski looked like himself again, comfortable and familiar---and yet not comfortable or familiar at all, not tonight---and it hit Ray like the first shot of whiskey. Kowalski was fresh and clean in that way that made you want to smell him, and his spiky hair looked soft even though Ray knew it must have ten tons of product in it. 

This was a fucking train wreck. This was like partnering Fraser. There was nothing to do but go with it and hope that when the bomb went off it didn't get scorch-marks on your suit.

"Aw, Vecchio, you changed your shirt," Kowalski said. "You really _do_ care."

"Yeah, I care about not smelling like Special Dark's perfume," Ray snapped. "That shirt stunk of gardenias from fifty paces. Why is there so much fucking kissing in the mob?"

"Repressed homosexual urges?" Kowalski suggested, sitting down and pouring the wine. 

Right then Ray's homosexual urges were not as repressed as he liked them. "This wine tastes like vinegar," he muttered. He actually had several pretty good bottles of wine in the Riv. He'd bought them on the way down from a winery he and Stella used to visit. But there was no way he was bringing one out for some fucked-up pseudo-date with Kowalski.

"It's the best the Orlando Value Motor Inn can provide," Kowalski said. "You want better wine, do the meet at a classier hotel next time."

"Yeah, maybe we should have done it at the Disney Caribbean Beach Resort like Valdes wanted," Ray snarled. "Millions of kids running around everywhere, is that how you wanted to do this bust?"

Kowalski just raised his eyebrows. "I think maybe you should drink more of the shitty wine, Vecchio."

Ray did, and he ate some of the shitty spaghetti, too. Langoustini was still pretty close to the surface---Ray kept wanting to hurt Kowalski, to snap at him, he kept snapping at Kowalski even though he managed to keep most of the really mean shit, the below-the-belt shit, to himself. The whole thing should have been awkward and unpleasant---it _was_ awkward and unpleasant---but Kowalski was weirdly patient. He talked about cars and baseball and flirted and winked and laid on the charm, pouring Ray's wine and serving him seconds and letting their hands brush when they reached for the butter. 

He was treating Ray like some fucking _girl_ , and it was so unlike how anyone would ever treat the Bookman that eventually it _worked_. By the time they got to the chocolate cream pie Ray actually found himself in the middle of a story about Angie trying to change the oil in the Riv. 

He stopped short. "How did you _do_ that?"

"Do what, Vecchio?" Kowalski sounded annoyed, like he actually wanted to hear the rest of the story, and that pissed Ray off even more, because it was just part of the game, right? It had to be.

"Get me spilling about stupid shit," he said.

Kowalski gave him a weird look. "You know how I did it, Vecchio."

"No. I don't."

"Sure you do," Kowalski insisted. "I good-copped you."

"Huh?"

"Dating's just like being good cop," Kowalski said. "Come on, you worked with Fraser for years, you had to have seen how he did it."

"I have no fucking clue how he did it," Ray said. "I mean, he'd just give them that laser stare and tell some Inuit story, and it was like the force of his will would get them doing anything he wanted." He'd done it to Ray, too, again and again, and Ray _still_ had no fucking clue how.

"Yeah, that's it exactly," Kowalski said. "He looked at them. He listened. He _cared_. You want people to tell you stuff, you gotta be interested in them, that's all. They can tell if you're faking."

Ray blinked. "But I'm _not_ interested in them."

Kowalski grinned. "Yeah, I know. That's why you're bad cop."

It was true. When he and Kowalski did interrogations, Kowalski was good cop, which really boggled the mind. Of course, if he got frustrated they'd end up more doing bad cop/worse cop, but hey, sometimes that worked too. "Fuck you, Kowalski. So you're a nice guy and I'm an asshole, is that what you're telling me?"

Kowalski waved his hands dismissively. "Nah. You just gotta care about someone first. You specialize. I mean, you know who's been knocking up Frannie, right?"

"Course I do," Ray said. "Don't tell Ma, though, she does bad cop like you would not believe."

"So how do you know?"

"Frannie told me. I mean, I had to work at her for a while, but---"

"There you go. But do you know who's the father of Nadine in accounting's baby?"

Nadine---she was the one with red hair, right? "She's got a baby?"

Kowalski laughed. "And there you go again."

"So you're telling me you were actually interested in my dumb story?"

Kowalski frowned. "Sure."

" _Why_?"

"'Cause you got pretty eyes," Kowalski said, leering, but when Ray didn't answer he hunched in on himself a little. "You tell a good story. So?"

Ray knew that when Kowalski used that tone of voice he should just back off, but he couldn't. "But we see each other all the time, and usually I don't find myself babbling on to you about my personal life."

Kowalski wiped his mouth and threw his napkin on the table. "There's no point being interested if someone's not interested back, Vecchio," he snapped. "We both know you hate me. Christ, this was a stupid fucking idea. You wanna see if there's a game on?" 

The overcooked spaghetti was a surprisingly hard lump in Ray's stomach. He ignored it. You couldn't let Kowalski get to you or you'd already lost. "You're such a drama queen, Kowalski. I don't hate you," he said. "I just don't like you very much. But see, that's why your theory is crap. You said I only know about people if I care about them, but I know all about _you_."

Kowalski glared. "No you don't."

"Yeah. I do. I know all kinds of stupid shit about you. I know what you like on your pizza, and where you buy your ammunition, and I know your vision is 20/45 and I know all the brain-dead names of those punk bands you play on stakeout just to be an ass. I know what you put in that pig swill you call coffee. I know the name of your pet _turtle_. For fuck's sake, Kowalski, I know what brand of _hair gel_ you use."

Kowalski was, perversely, starting to smile again. "Really."

"Yeah, and frankly, that's space in my brain where I could be storing something more useful. Like the theme songs for children's breakfast cereals."

Kowalski slouched back in his chair, spreading his legs in a really distracting way. He seemed to have gone from pissed off to pretty damn pleased with himself in the space of a few seconds. He wasn't still stuck on his theory, was he? He didn't think that Ray's knowing all that crap meant Ray _cared_ about him? 

Fuck, maybe Ray did. He searched for something to bitch about, quick. "You got whipped cream on your upper lip," he said, pointing.

"Where?" Kowalski said, licking in absolutely the wrong place.

"Right here." Ray brushed the spot on his own mouth. 

Kowalski put out his tongue and licked slowly over his entire bottom lip. He smirked. "Did I get it?"

Damn it. The asshole was doing it on purpose. He was trying to get Ray to touch him. It was the oldest dating trick in the book. Well, Ray wasn't going to fall for---

But that was stupid. Whether he wiped the cream off or not, Kowalski won. Either Ray touched him, or he showed he was afraid to. He was already playing by Kowalski's rules by going along with all this in the first place. So he might as well go for it.   
He reached out and slowly wiped the cream off Kowalski's lip with his thumb. Then he brought his hand to his mouth and licked it off, deliberate and suggestive.

Kowalski's smug smile went all wonky and his eyes darkened. Jackpot.

"You were saying?" Ray said.

Kowalski took a deep breath. "I got no fucking idea."

"This pie is horrible," Ray said. "I'm gonna have to take you someplace where they use _real_ whipped cream, not this crap from a fucking aerosol can." He stopped short when he realized what he'd said---but Kowalski smiled, not smug at all, and Ray didn't explain that it was just a slip of the tongue. 

"You wanna watch TV?" Kowalski asked when they'd eaten the last of the pie.

"Sure," Ray said, taken aback and a little disappointed---ah, who was he kidding, a lot disappointed. But they were only about five minutes into _Married With Children_ , which Ray could not believe Kowalski actually _liked_ , when Kowalski yawned ostentatiously and stretched. Of course his arm ended up around Ray's shoulders. They weren't even on a fucking couch, they were sitting on the edge of the bed. It was idiotic and juvenile and Kowalski thought he was so fucking hilarious, and Ray was tingling all over.

Kowalski leaned in and whispered, "All right, so can I blow you now?"

Ray wanted to say yes, _God_ he wanted it, he'd wanted it ever since Kowalski'd offered earlier---and yeah, let's face it, even before that. That _mouth_ \---he bet Kowalski gave great head. 

But getting a blowjob in a hotel room from someone he treated like shit---that was the Bookman. Nicer hotels, sure. Hotels with a bigger TV and a better wine list and maybe an actual couch. But still. Ray was tired of taking. He wanted to give. He wanted to go down on his knees on the bumpy carpet and suck Kowalski's dick. 

But that wasn't enough either. "Fuck me," he said, turning his head and looking Kowalski right in the eye.

Kowalski took his arm back, looking genuinely, totally uncertain for the first time that night. "Look, Vecchio, you don't have to---"

"I want to."

"You sure?"

"How many times are you gonna make me say it, Kowalski? I want you to fuck me."

"O---okay." Kowalski ran a hand through his hair. Then he stood up, abruptly, and turned off the TV. The sudden silence was louder than an exploding Riv, and for once Kowalski didn't fill it. He went to his suitcase, digging through an outer pocket and coming up with a tube of slick and some condoms. Fucking boy scout. 

Or had Kowalski come to Florida hoping to hook up with Stella? The idea pissed Ray off, and not, he realized with an unpleasant jolt, because he gave a flying fuck who Stella slept with. Plus, things had gone awkward now, and Ray missed Kowalski's warmth next to him, missed Kowalski's arm around him. Which was fucked up. 

Kowalski kicked the bed. "Well, um...let's see what she's got."

Ray got up and they tugged the comforter off the bed. Kowalski pulled off the scratchy blanket underneath, too, yanking it out of the tight hospital corners that reminded Ray unwelcomely of Benny.

"You---you done this before?" Kowalski asked.

Jesus, Kowalski thought he was a virgin. Ray didn't know if that was sort of sweet or just insulting. "Once or twice, yeah." 

Kowalski took a couple of jerky breaths. "With---with---"

"Not with Fraser."

"Okay. Okay." Kowalski looked at Ray, blinked, and visibly made himself calm the fuck down. He put the condoms and lube down on the bedside table and came to stand in front of Ray. "Sorry. I wasn't expecting this. But it's cool. It's gonna be good, I promise."

Ray's eyes stung. He didn't blink. "It better be, Kowalski, or I'll put a note in your file."

The corner of Kowalski's mouth turned up. "You're wearing too many clothes, Vecchio. Maybe I should do something about that."

Ray didn't think he could handle standing there while Kowalski undressed him. All this sweet date crap, it was getting to him in all the wrong ways. "I got it," he said shortly, unbuckling his belt.

Kowalski put his hands up. "Suit yourself," he said, and pulled off his t-shirt.

Ray tripped and ended up sitting on the bed with his ankles tangled in his pants, staring slack-jawed at Kowalski's chest. Sure, he'd known Kowalski was in good shape, it wasn't like those t-shirts hid anything. But fuck, the guy was perfect, lean and muscled and smooth and Ray just wanted to reach out and touch him. Even that stupid Champion tatt was suddenly sexy as hell. 

"You okay over there?" Kowalski asked, sounding amused.

Ray flushed and kicked off his pants. "Just dandy." Shit, he couldn't do this. He couldn't strip in front of this guy. He was pushing forty, and okay, so was Kowalski, but Kowalski was---undoing his button fly, each little twist and jerk sparking dull flashes of gold from the bracelet and watch on his wrists. 

Fuck it. Ray had the rest of his clothes off in record time.

He started feeling self-conscious again as soon as he was naked. He glanced over at Kowalski, who was looking back at him---and who was also already hard. Okay, Ray felt a little better about the way he looked now.

Kowalski nodded at the bed. "You wanna get on your hands and knees?" he said quietly.

Ray had never wanted anything more. The sheets were stiff and chilly, but Ray barely noticed. He felt Kowalski settle in behind him, and saw gold out of the corner of his eye as Kowalski grabbed the lube off the nightstand. Then there were slick hands on him, spreading him, a finger sliding down, down and _in_. Ray cursed under his breath.

"You got a nice ass, Vecchio," Kowalski said from behind him. "You should show it off more. Those suit pants do nothing for you."

"We can't all pull off tight jeans and tighter shirts, Kowalski."

"I thought you hated my clothes." Kowalski curled his finger inside Ray like a question mark.

Ray groaned, low and desperate, and couldn't think of a single fucking lie. "Yeah, I do," he said. "They make me think about your ass during valuable paperwork time."

Kowalski snickered and worked in another finger. "Valuable _paperwork_ time? What are you, Welsh?" He sounded pleased.

"Bite me, Kowalski."

Kowalski did, leaning down to bite and suck at the knob at the base of Ray's spine as he started to slide in a third finger, oh so careful.

"Forget the third finger," Ray gasped. "Just fuck me already."

Kowalski pushed Ray over on his side, molded himself to Ray's back, taut muscle and hot skin everywhere. He crooked his free arm around Ray's hip and grabbed Ray's dick in his slippery hand. "You want me to fuck you?" he asked, slowly twisting his fingers inside Ray. "You want to forget, yeah? You want the burn, the stretch, you want it so hard and fast you can't think of anything but the cock in your ass---"

" _Yes_ ," Ray hissed. Oh, God, he wanted it _now_. He knew he could make Kowalski, could make him want to go rough, want to hurt him. All he had to do was point out that the last time someone had their fingers in his ass, it was Stella. But that might also make Kowalski stop, so Ray settled for begging. " _Please_ , Kowalski."

Kowalski shifted and spoke right in Ray's ear. "What are you thinking about now, Vecchio?"

The world went hot and slow, and Ray still couldn't think of a lie, couldn't _think_ , couldn't even remember what he'd wanted to forget. " _You_."

Kowalski shuddered, the hand on Ray's cock slipping even while the fingers in his ass kept their rhythm. "Oh, Jesus, Vecchio," he moaned, his lips brushing Ray's ear and moving down to suck at his neck, wet and hot, and it was possible Ray would never think about anything but Kowalski again. Maybe this was it for the rest of his life, his brain endlessly looping the smooth slide and twist of Kowalski's fingers.

Then the fingers inside him went away. 

Ray whimpered in wordless longing. Kowalski's breath was warm and heavy on his neck, and Ray heard the crinkle of the condom packet tearing. He couldn't move, couldn't make his mouth form words. _Oh, Jesus, please._ Then he felt it, the tip of Kowalski's cock pressing into him.

"Yes, more, fuck, more, Kowalski," he said, and then he pretty much figured the talking portion of the evening was over. Kowalski slid into him nice and slow and then started fucking him nice and slow while jacking him off---you guessed it---nice and slow.

Jesus, this was incredible, he'd forgotten how great---it had been years---he was pretty sure that at some other time he might be embarrassed by how loudly he was moaning, but Kowalski was breathing in his ear like he'd been chasing down a perp for miles, like this was making him crazy too, so fuck it. 

"You still want me to go faster, Vecchio?" Kowalski asked, rough and thready. Apparently he wasn't done talking.

Ray sobbed out a laugh. "Fuck yeah," he said, because he was a contrary bastard.

Kowalski pulled out, almost all the way, and Ray dragged in a breath and braced himself for Kowalski to slam back in. It was like the thrill at the top of a roller coaster, when you could feel the scream building inside of you---but Kowalski just slid unhurriedly back into him, one fucking nerve ending at a time, until Ray's entire consciousness was focused on those few inches. If he'd gotten shot again he might not even have noticed, so long as Kowalski kept moving.

"What are you thinking about now, Vecchio?" Kowalski pressed forward just that last little bit---he was all the way inside, so deep and solid Ray didn't know how he'd ever get out. Even Kowalski's hipbones pressing into Ray's skin seemed unbearably erotic. 

"Wha?--- _ohhhh_ \---"

"What are you thinking about now?" 

Kowalski sounded like he might actually die if Ray didn't answer, so Ray made a superhuman effort, stopped moaning, and said, "None of your business." And okay, he had to clear his throat after the first couple words to make his voice sound even halfway not sex-drunk, but it was the principle of the thing.

"Come on, Vecchio, tell me," Kowalski murmured, rubbing his thumb over the head of Ray's dick. "You can tell me, what are you thinking?" He shifted and somehow, impossibly, actually sank a half an inch deeper into Ray, best interrogation technique _ever_ , and Ray just broke.

"You!" he gasped. "You, Kowalski, I am thinking about you---oh _God_ , you, _you_ , please---" 

Kowalski started jerking him off again, slow and easy, and Ray could feel it, it was coming, he was gonna come---which is when he started begging for real. 

He begged Kowalski to slow down, to stop, to make it last just one minute longer, just one second, please, just one---but it didn't, and the world imploded slowly for what seemed like forever, hot and sharp and dark and God, _Kowalski_.

When Ray stopped more or less blacking out from pleasure, Kowalski was already sprawled out next to him, limp and quiet and tying a knot in the condom. Ray was actually disappointed that he'd missed Kowalski's orgasm, which was weird. 

"You good-copped me," he said fuzzily. 

"Yeah," Kowalski said, sounding as drained as Ray felt. "You just have to mean it, and it works every time." Ray rolled over, and Kowalski flashed him a tired grin and winked. "You can bad cop me next time."

What was Kowalski saying? That that wasn't just a fuck, that he meant it---meant what, exactly? But Ray was too tired and boneless to freak out about it for more than a couple of seconds. He was already half-asleep in the wet spot when Kowalski's phone rang a minute later.

Kowalski cursed, and the bed shifted as he got up. "Kowalski speaking...Stella? Stella, this is _not_ a good time...Ah, fuck...You got the tapes, what do you need our statements for?...Yeah, yeah, I know, Stella, okay. I'll be right there."

Ray turned over and watched Kowalski pick his clothes up off the floor. 

"Special Dark lawyered up," he told Ray. "The fucker is trying to get her released. He's saying there's no admissible evidence, the taping was illegal because we didn't consent to it."

Ray banged his head against the headboard. "Didn't we already sign waivers for this?"

"Yeah, I know, but Stella's freaking out and she wants our statements. Yours is done, right?"

"It's over there by the TV. You don't have to go, I'll get up."

Kowalski gave him a crooked smile. "Nah, I'm good. You get some sleep. Put the chain on, I'll do the super secret spy knock when I get back." He went into the bathroom but didn't bother to shut the door. Ray heard water running and a minute later Kowalski came out looking---well, mostly presentable.

"Uh, Kowalski? Your hair?"

Kowalski ducked his head. "Oh. Uh, thanks." He fixed his hair without a mirror---how did he _do_ that?---and said, "Don't let the chocolate teleport anywhere." Then he grabbed up their statements and headed out the door to Stella.

Ray got up and put the chain on. He was exhausted, but he didn't feel like sleeping. He staggered into the bathroom. He should probably shower, but he didn't feel like that either, so he just cleaned off as best he could with the damp towel Kowalski had thrown over the shower curtain. He looked at himself in the mirror. He looked---well, he looked like crap, bald and sweaty and sleep-deprived and a little flabby. But he also looked relaxed and fucked out, without that vicious set to his mouth he usually had after doing Langoustini, so whatever. And he had a deep red mark the size of Lake Michigan on his neck---or not really on his neck, more where his neck met his shoulder. Low enough, he realized, so it wouldn't show above his collar. 

Fuck, he was gonna cry. And what was _wrong_ with him, that he was overcome with gratitude because Kowalski had given him a tactful hickey?

_Kowalski gave you a lot more than that, asshole,_ he told himself. He went back into the room and pulled on his pants and his undershirt. He didn't put on his shirt. He didn't want to cover up the damn hickey. He went out to the Riv and grabbed a bottle of wine. Then he came back in, put the chain on again, and sat on the edge of the rumpled bed freaking out. Was he gonna tell Fraser next time he called? Shit, he wouldn't even have to tell Fraser, Fraser would just _know_. Fucking Canadian ESP. What would Benny _say_? What would Ray say? Was this a thing now? Were they gonna sleep in the same bed? If not, who was getting the bed with Ray's come all over it? What would his ma say if she found out? Would Stella be able to tell when she saw Kowalski? What would Welsh---

The secret knock came. It had only been forty-five minutes, Kowalski must have broken the speed limit into a million tiny pieces. Ray checked the peephole and opened the door. 

Kowalski looked tired and nervous in the bright overhead light, and all Ray's worries merged into one giant worry that Kowalski was going to say it was a mistake, he was drunk, just forget it, it never happened. 

But Kowalski didn't. He came in and locked the door and stood there watching Ray from a couple inches away and didn't say a damn thing.

"Uh," Ray said. "I, uh---look, I had a good bottle of wine in the car, and I should have got it out earlier but I didn't. So, you want a glass?"

"No tha---I mean, yeah, okay," Kowalski said.

Ray knew Kowalski wasn't really a wine guy, but taking out the cork gave him something to do with his hands, and somewhere to look instead of at Kowalski's face when he said, "Hey, Kowalski---you wanna maybe cancel your flight and drive back with me tomorrow? We could stop and feed the albino squirrels."

There was a pause. "Isn't that, like, your special alone time?" Kowalski didn't sound mean, just curious.

"Yeah, but it's cool. I don't think I need it this time. I mean, I feel okay."

"Yeah? That's great," Kowalski said, and he sounded like he meant it.

Ray met Kowalski's eyes, finally, and Kowalski _looked_ like he meant it, too. He was looking at Ray like he was interested, like he cared.

Ray wanted to say something else, like _Thank you_ , or _I_ am _interested back_. But he couldn't, he didn't know how, so he put down the bottle of wine and went over and kissed him. He figured that was pretty much what he wanted to say or ask or whatever anyway, and if Kowalski pulled away, then that was that. 

Kowalski pressed closer, fisting his hands in Ray's shirt. He kissed Ray back like he'd refused to fuck him before, hard and fast and desperate, and when he stopped it was to press his face into the crook of Ray's neck.

"Shit, Vecchio, thank God," he said. "Uh---I mean, yeah. Sure, I'll drive back with you."

"Okay," Ray said, curving a hand possessively over the small of Kowalski's back. "Okay, good."


End file.
